


Sometimes I Can Still Hear His Voice

by sulidaebae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Trainee Harry Potter, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Imprisonment, Light Angst, M/M, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, St Mungo's Hospital, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-04-11 22:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19119169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulidaebae/pseuds/sulidaebae
Summary: The savior of the wizarding world has gone missing. Some speculate he's dead. They might be right but that does not explain why he's in Draco's favourite arm chair drinking from his favourite cup.





	1. Some very pleasant tea.

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter takes a while to get to the point because honestly this tea tray is basically my version of the flying carpet in Aladdin and deserves a time to shine.

The owl tapped lightly at the kitchen window and raised its leg to show Draco that the mail it was delivering was indeed something he wanted. On several occasions disgruntled owls bearing what was clearly hate mail and parcels spelled to explode upon opening were left outside and completely ignored by the owner of the house. Draco figured that if the postal service wasn't going to do their job in screening dangerous artefacts he wasn't going to make their job any easier. He did start to leave water and dry treats out for the owls. It was not their fault, and Draco didn't exactly have many visitors outside of his mother and the feathered post workers. 

He opened the window with a flick of his wand and dropped the required sum into the owl's pouch. Once he had detached the newspaper from its leg the owl hooted in farewell and flew off. 

Draco closed the window and drew up his wards again before resuming his breakfast. He spread the newspaper flat on his counter as his tea service hovered near the door that led to the dining hall, a permanently locked door blocking its way. Ever since his father's funeral, and frankly ever since the Ministry released his family under caution into a safe house in Scotland, he hadn't set foot in the Mansion. Let alone open any of the doors that he came to dread passing at the time of the Second Wizarding War. 

But over the past week his mother had been nagging him to prepare the mansion's contents for sale and clear all of its rooms of residual dark magic. She was still using the grieving widow excuse to stay away from Malfoy Manor, even though both she and Draco knew there was nothing and no one to mourn. Lucius hadn't been himself for years before his death and it was a relief more than anything to finally move past the darkness that took over what once was his father.

The tea tray impatiently nudged the locked door again, causing its contents to clang together. Draco shook off his thoughts and spelled it back onto the kitchen table next to the remains of his honey and toast. In the aftermath of the trials there was no question of having house elves around the family and he and his mother managed to perform most domestic tasks. Not too badly either. Draco was still not particularly skilled when it came to feeding himself with things that he had to make from scratch without the use of his wand. But the wand hadn't been working as well for him and it was just easier to make his own darn toast than to have jams spread all over the counter and kitchen walls in the process.

Leaning his hip against the counter he blew the steam from his cup of tea as he skimmed the front page of the newspaper. Quidditch news, the engagement of some war hero or another, a recipe for marigold madeleines at the bottom of the page. He flipped to the next section and was about to move onto the advancements in potions rubric when a photo caught his eye. It was a view from the back of a young man as he was hurriedly walking up the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron. His travel cloak was tossed carelessly over his shoulder and his boots were caked with what looked like swamp muck, but it was the hair that made Draco stop in his tracks. The mess of black unruly locks and tufts was hard to miss. As was the caption "Auror In Training And War Hero Potter: Missing Or Dead?" 

"What the..."

The subtitle of the article elaborated that Potter had been missing for months and hadn't been seen or heard of since he got back from an Auror Bootcamp and was resting at the Leaky. Anyone with information was asked to come forward. What came after was a mix of friends' pleas and the Ministry's own comments about how promising "Young Potter" was. Draco skipped over that information completely. 

Potter. Missing. Presumed dead. From what? Delayed _swamp creature_ venom? He scoffed and pushed the newspaper away before pulling it back towards him. The article being relegated to second page only meant that the wizarding world was not as involved with this particular story anymore. So much for Potter's adoring fans. Draco took a sip of his now drinkable tea and frowned. Somehow with his father's funeral and the release of their estate back to the family he had missed the initial announcement of Potter's disappearance. But even before that, he didn't exactly keep up with Saint Potter and the media circus that revolved around him. Not that there seemed to be much media on the subject. Trials, Auror training, his split from the Weasley girl, a trek down to Australia for some reason. Not that Draco minded. He hadn't seen the man since the trial at which Potter had testified in his and his mother's favor. His father hadn't been so lucky, but with a probable insanity plea it ended up not mattering.

Draco firmly pushed the newspaper away for good this time and turned to face the dining hall door. Flashes of memories of what transpired in that room were threatening to turn into full flashbacks if he didn't keep himself in check. But he had to start somewhere, and there was hardly a room in the mansion where something _didn't_ happen. He had apparated to the Mansion a few days ago and his mother had nagged him every evening about starting the long process of cleansing and doing the inventory of the several dozen rooms. No day like today. Draco's gloved hand was about to touch the door handle when he jerked back. The dining hall would not be an easy room to deal with, but if he had to sleep in the mansion for one more night there was a place that needed to be seen to more than that. Turning on his heel, Draco walked out of the kitchen and headed down the hallway to the door that he had opened more than once with dread in the pit in his stomach. This time was no different even though he had years of recovery under his belt, an arsenal of protective and purifying spells and, well, the lack of a Dark Lord in his bloody dining room. As Draco faced the cellar door he prepared himself for whatever awaited him behind it with a couple of wards and a mental kick in his own arse. 

"Gods, I hate this place," he muttered before pointing his wand at the doorknob and casting _alohomora_.

Nothing.

"For fuck's sake, _ALOHOMORA_!", Draco roared, again without any results. Angry both at himself and whoever sealed the bloody door he kicked at the wood with the heel of his shoe a few times. Draco was prepared to jiggle the doorknob in its socket with all of his strength, but as soon as he touched it turned smoothly as if oiled recently. Pausing only for a second to consider what sort of spell prevented an unlocking charm but allowed plain old doorknob turning, he let go of the door as it swung forward into the dungeon. Whatever Draco expected to feel upon facing the stairs descending into the Malfoy Manor he had underestimated tenfold. The feelings of fear, despair and darkness that hit him weren't his own but felt just as strong as if they were. It was as if the pleading voices of the victims held there by his aunt were still echoing in the stone rooms. He found himself scrambling for the doorknob and shutting the door before he even realized he was doing it. This was madness. His mother was insane if she thought he was in any way ready to deal with the horrors of what they used to call their home.

Draco turned away from the dungeons and headed for the one room that he'd already cleared of any trace of dark magic. The library's shelves were considerably less full after the day long book burning (and sealing of what didn't burn safely) he had undertaken when he first got to the manor. Because he hadn't dealt with the upper floors and bedrooms Draco had also been sleeping on a couch in the library, something he hadn't done since he was a child sneaking down to finish fairytales past his bedtime.   
When he opened the library door he barely managed to duck before the tea tray happily clattered over his head to come rest on the coffee table before Draco's favorite chair. He had clearly forgotten to lock the door of the kitchen after himself and the tray had taken advantage of its freedom to finally escape the room it had been confined to.

"Suit yourself," Draco sneered before returning to the kitchen to clear up after his breakfast. Once the crumbs were swept away and the leftover toast disposed of he locked the kitchen up and was about to head back to his safe haven when he heard the familiar slamming sound of a door coming from further down the hallway. Somehow the cellar door ended up ajar. Perhaps the tray decided to tour the cellar before deciding no one there was interested in tea. Having had enough of the feeling of dread that greeted him whenever he even looked at the bloody thing Draco aimed a locking and binding charm at it and firmly stalked towards the library. Just to be on the safe side (safe from what), he locked the library door as well and turned around to face the troublemaking tray.

And shrieked.


	2. A guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead.

Harry Potter looked exactly as he did on the newspaper photo, down to the grimy boots and bird's nest hair. That didn't comfort Draco in the slightest. Potter, however, looked perfectly at ease sitting in Draco's favourite chair with his favourite cup in hand. When Draco screamed, the man looked up from the cup and quickly set it back down on the tray.

"I didn't mean to startle you. Though I am pleasantly surprised you're not pointing a wand at me."

Draco belatedly realized that his wand hand was indeed still clutching at his chest. 

"Potter, you..."

"I really _am_ sorry for startling you. I didn't know how to best let you know that I was, well, _here_." Potter shifted in the chair and looked around himself as if he was noticing where he was for the first time.

"WHY are you here? You're missing," Draco gestured to the newspaper that lay on the tea tray, "you're presumed dead by most of the wizarding world! Why on earth are you in my house and how the fuck did you get in? There are wards! And no matter how good of an Auror you are, Potter, that's still a crime you..."

"Malfoy, please."

Draco paused in his heated tirade to properly look at the man who was sitting before him. Yes Potter looked the same as he did before. But also more...faded? Like an old photograph or an image filtered through tinted glass. He was somehow less vibrant than a normal person should be. 

"You look ill." Draco blurted out into the silence. Potter snorted and slumped into the armchair.

"Yeah, I bet I do. Being locked in your dungeon for months will do that to a guy."

"I'm not a fool, Potter. There was no one in the house when I arrived not has there been anyone for several years. I cast a homenum revelio when I got here."

"Right, my bad. Draco Malfoy is not a fool. Tell me, not-a-fool, does it detect dead people?"

Potter's casual demeanor had switched to something a lot less friendly.  

"No, what sort of imbecilic question..." Draco trailed off. He squinted at Potter and suddenly the man's dusty skin and blank eyes looked a lot less sick and a lot more ghostly to him. "Merlin."

Draco sank into the armchair opposite of the one in which Potter (Potter's ghost?) was sitting. He suddenly felt nauseous. If Potter was dead and in his house...

"Blimey, Malfoy, I didn't say _I was dead_. Breathe. Don't pass out on me here. This is the most human interaction I've had in months and I'd like to avoid having to talk to rats in your dungeon again in the hopes that one of them is an Animagus."

Potter was hovering over Draco, his muted green eyes full of concern. Draco laughed weakly. 

"What are you if not dead, Potter? And _please_ tell me what I'm supposed to do with the ghost of the Boy Who Lived."

"Well, I don't know. But I'm pretty sure I'm not dead. I can touch things," Potter demonstratively picked up a cup and set it back down again, "And I don't think I'm cold or transparent like a ghost should be." 

Draco cautiously reached out and poked the man's offered bare hand. It didn't seem to have any temperature at all. Cold or otherwise. From what he remembered of Myrtle, she was bluish and cold and couldn't touch objects or people.

"No, you...you are different."

At this, Potter sighed of relief and sat back into the chair he was occupying before.

"But that doesn't explain why or how you got here."

"Oh I'm sure you can guess."

Draco could, but he really didn't want to. Didn't want to think about his father breaking out of the safe house and going missing for hours on end during several weeks before he finally got home just a day before his death, a blissful expression on his face. Nothing he or his mother said would get Lucius to talk. He just stared off into the distance, grinning, his fingers twitching and muttered under his breath. Didn't want to think about the broken wand he found stuffed into the sleeve of his father's cloak, a wand he did not recognize. A wand that Lucius was prohibited from wielding. Didn't want to think about the fact that his father's dying words not being a last address to his wife or son but a whispered incantation, _Morsmordre_.

Potter correctly read Draco's horrified expression as a realisation of what his father had done and nodded. 

"Why...why did you only come out now? I've been here for days. I could have...I would have..."

Draco trailed off. What could he possibly do in this situation? The son of a death eater with the somewhat dead Wizarding Hero in his house.

"You didn't know, Malf…"

"Gods, don't call me that. Draco is better than anything having to do with that." His father ended up being worse than he ever thought. Through all of wartime Draco hung on to the thought that Lucius did everything to protect him and his mum. But he was wrong. This proved it. Draco would rather take his mother's maiden name like she had than ever be called by his father's name again.

"Draco. You didn't know. I never thought you and your mother had any idea I was down there. You didn't let me rot in your cellar once when your life was at stake, why would I think that you'd do it now..."

Bloody Potter and his bloody Gryffindor selflessness. 

"...And I know I'm not dead. I just hadn't been able to leave the cellar until you opened the door. And also..."

"Oh gods, what else? What could be worse than being semi-murdered by my father and being stuck in the cellar for months, Potter?"

"I don't know where my, um, body is," Potter mumbled as if it was his fault that he'd misplaced his body, "and I can't leave without it. I tried, while you were in the kitchen, and I couldn't make it out of the front door or any windows."

At this, Draco lost it. Potter startled in his chair and sat, wide eyed, staring at Draco as he tried to get his breathing under control.

"I need a drink, Potter. Do you need a drink?"

"I don't think it will do anything to me but I appreciate the thought, Ma...Draco."

"Good, I hope I'll be a better host than the previous two you've had here."

The joke wasn't the best and Draco was mostly rambling to cover up how panicked he was with the whole situation, but it made Potter snort. And Draco relaxed the tiniest bit when he saw the man smile.

Once they both had a significant amount of whiskey in their tea cups (Potter looked horrified at the idea of being left alone in the library when Draco mentioned getting proper glasses) and Draco had calmed down once more he began to analyze the situation.

"So my father hid your body somewhere within the house and that prevents you from leaving. Your body is not a corpse because you are not a ghost so we can assume that once you find it you can just...pop back to life. Hopefully. But it's not in the cellar, because you haven't found it in the entire time you were down there. Correct?"

"Yes, yes and I guess. I'm no Hufflepuff but unless there are hidden parts in the cellar I couldn't get to it's somewhere else. I can't go through walls so there's always a possibility I missed something."

"Do you want me to try to...Accio your body?"

Potter smiled, genuinely and warmly. And Draco felt his ears prickle with heat.

"I doubt your father didn't foresee someone trying that spell, but we can try."

Draco cast a spell and both men froze, listening for any sign of movement but the manor was still and quiet. Draco cast several other location and acquisition spells in quick succession, anything he could think of, but the results were the same.

"My wand hasn't been working the same since you returned it. Not that I think it's in any way your fault." He did, at first, and then his mother exasperatedly reminded him of how fickle wands were even without taking into account traumatic events. "It would be best to ask Granger, she knows the books for it. And I'm sure she'd like to know you're..."

"No." Potter interrupted. "Absolutely not. We are not letting anyone know that I am here and semi-dead."

"Potter..."

"If you're Draco then I'm Harry. And I did not defend you and your mother at the trials to have you dragged through that again because your father did some dark magic that keeps my body nice and warm with some sort of buffet stasis charm. We can tell them once we fix this. Once I can tell them I'm okay and that you saved me, not harmed me." Potter was holding onto Draco's wrist firmly and looking directly into his eyes. And while the pressure of his fingers and the colour of his eyes weren't quite right, the firm conviction in his voice that what he was doing was right was undeniably Potter's.

So Draco reluctantly agreed.

 

 

 

 


	3. Close Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes searching for a guy's body brings people together. And leads to things. Like spring cleaning.

Although Draco knew he really shouldn't complain, with him being whole and alive and all, he still grumbled about the fact that no matter how much Potter cleaned and worked around the Manor to tidy up the rooms while looking for his body he didn't get tired or hungry or even dirty. At the end of the day when Draco was covered in dust, cobwebs and had had to repel several unpleasant hexes left over from the war Harry was still the same as he was when he first appeared in his library. Still disheveled, still dimly coloured, still very annoying at times and ridiculously endearing at others.

Draco still slept in the library, even though a few days into exploring and cleaning the manor all of the bedrooms had been completely cleared. He liked to tell himself that it was because he had grown accustomed to it, but truly it was because of Potter. Because he finally got to experience what it was like sharing a dorm room situation with an infuriating Gryffindor. And because Harry flat out asked him to, still fearing to be left alone. It had taken Potter a while to actually phrase it as such. At first he kept coming up with reasons for Draco to stay in the Library overnight, but when those got more and more ridiculous and Draco's eyebrows couldn't go any higher in surprise at the man's weirdness he finally cracked. They were wrapping up the day by clearing the pantry of a particularly nasty infestation of tiny creatures Draco had no recollection of ever learning about. He was covered in dirt and crumbs and badly needed to shower. He locked the pantry behind them and headed for the bathroom attached to what used to be his bedroom upstairs. Before he managed to make it even halfway up the stairs Potter grabbed his sleeve, holding him back.

"Are you...staying upstairs?"

"If I pass out while showering, yes." Draco shrugged, taking another step towards the bathroom. Potter held on.

"Could you stay in the library? With me?", Potter asked, his voice barely audible, "Please?"

Draco stared at the man. He hadn't planned to stay in his bedroom anyway, but the fact that Potter seemed so terrified to be left by himself and had genuinely asked him to stay was hard to believe. As if he'd say no. As if he'd trust the manor to treat Potter right in his absence. Because he definitely trusted Potter, it was hard not to. Over the past few days he'd put in genuine effort into helping Draco with his task in the manor. And their first evening together once Draco had drunk several teacups of alcohol (which seemed to have no effect on whatever Potter was) he had tipsily brought up their shared past. After a few hours of delving into every single common memory and apologising back and forth for whatever they had done and said to each other, Draco offered Potter his hand to shake. It was a lot harder to do than that first time when they were children. But without an audience of several dozen classmates and without any hidden motives it was the easiest thing Draco did ever since end of the war. Potter shook his hand without hesitation, his hand solid although lacking any recognisable human temperature.

So of course he'd agree to Potter's request. And even though several teasing jokes and phrases popped up in his mind in response he just nodded.

"I will."

Potter breathed in relief, but still didn't let go of Draco's sleeve. 

"Would you let go of my arm, though? Unless you want to come along and make sure I don't fall asleep in the bathtub."

Draco mentally kicked himself for not being able to hold back more than a minute from poking fun at Potter. He was expecting a retort but instead he saw Potter's face redden (or take on a dusty brick colour) before he released his sleeve and hurried back down the stairs.

"Just make sure you don't drown. I'll go make tea." He mumbled over his shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen and being greeted by the joyful clattering of the tea tray.

Confused, Draco closed the bathroom door behind himself and stripped off his dirty clothes. Those headed directly into a steadily growing pile of dusty and stained clothing that he'd accumulated over the course of the week. He'd have to owl his mother to ask what spell to use to clean those. As he stood under the spray of water in the shower his hands automatically found the scarred grooves in his chest. That was the one topic they hadn't discussed yet and Draco wasn't sure how to bring it up. "Hey Potter, remember that time you almost killed me in the girls' bathroom with some spell you didn't even know?" didn't seem like a good way to start.   
He got out of the shower only to realise that he'd forgotten to grab a towel. Grumbling to himself, he hurriedly wiped himself down with a clean shirt and pulled on the rest of his clean clothing. His trousers stuck unpleasantly to his damp skin and water dripped from his hair. He carefully walked back downstairs, trying to avoid slipping in the puddles he was creating. Potter had just finished pouring tea into their cups when he walked into the library.

"I still don't know how long to keep it steeping for. Trelawney didn't mention anything about the brewing part of..." 

His voice trailed off as he glanced back and spotted Draco. Or rather Draco's bare chest. Well, that was one way of bringing up the bathroom episode.  
Draco shivered under the man's gaze. Although Potter's eyes were not as piercingly green anymore it was still quite an experience to be the focus of them. Potter slowly approached and raised his hand so that his fingers hovered a few inches away from Draco's scars.

"I did this. I'm such an idiot. Draco, I'm so sorry."

"Potter..."

When that didn't make the man look up, Draco tried again.

"Harry."

This time he looked up, his eyes looking the same as they did when he'd cast that painful spell.

"You were an idiot, yes. But we both know you didn't mean this to happen and you wouldn't let it happen again."

Harry nodded and his fingers finally pressed against Draco's skin. He immediately felt his skin heating up even though Harry's fingers were only discernible from the air around them by the pressure of his fingertips. Draco tried his best to stay in place and not jerk away from the tingling touch.

"Does it hurt?"

The childish question made Draco snort and he shook his head.

"No, the scar tissue doesn't have any sensitivity pretty much. And I'm sure if people were into Death Eaters they'd find these very appealing. Scars are in, haven't you heard?"

Harry finally removed his hand to reach for his own lightening bolt scar. He smiled back at Draco.

"I think a Death Eater fetish isn't the only thing that will draw people to you. There are plenty of people who are into snarky blond gits in general."

 _Like you?_ Draco almost asked, but instead he just rolled his eyes and pushed past Harry to pick up his tea cup. 


	4. Warm Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: "Finders Keepers" or "Malfoy Manor floor plan? Never heard of her."

"Where have we not looked?"

Draco looked up from his morning newspaper with an apologetic look on his face. They had finished the first floor the previous evening and he had just come back from breakfast with his mother to tell her the news of the manor being ready for sale. 

"I don't know, Harry. I asked mother about any sort of hidden rooms under the guise of having to clear them too and we'd found them all already. She was actually quite disappointed none of them were as secret as she thought anymore."

And they had found a lot. Some containing really questionable artifacts, torn clothing, stairs leading nowhere, endlessly looping hallways. It had taken them some time to lift all the spells that tricked the eye and mind and concealed these spots but at the end of their task the manor looked a lot less intimidating and drim.

Harry leaned back and tossed his legs over the arm of the armchair that Draco had eventually forfeited to him. 

"All of the floors, the two turrets, the greenhouse..."

"It's an orangery."

"...the guest wing, the stables. The cel..." Harry trailed off, his face suddenly even more pale than before. "We didn't check the cellar."

"We assumed that after spending several months down there you'd checked every corner of it," Draco pointed out even though he knew already where this conversation was heading. "There aren't many places to hide the body of a grown man."

"Draco, I had my cloak with me."

"I sure hope you did, you went missing in February."

"No," Harry shook his head, "my invisibility cloak."

Draco stared. But of course bloody Harry Potter had an invisibility cloak. All those times at school when Draco was convinced Harry was in two places at once, and the time at Hogsmeade...

"I usually have it with me, and I had it with me on the day it happened too. If your father found it and used it to hide me then I wouldn't have been able to find myself."

And that statement brought Draco to the one question he kept going back to and one that Harry had always avoided answering. 

"Harry, how did my father get you here? It's not like he could just owl you and ask you for a chat at the manor. You're daft at times, but you're still smarter than that. And don't pretend you suddenly need to clean a broom closet of doxies. You've run out of excuses. Just answer the question. It could help us find your body. If he lured you here..."

"Because of you."

Draco stared at him. Harry's interruption was as unexpected as the answer. And it made Draco shiver.

"Pardon?"

"You. Your father convinced me to meet him because of you."

When Draco kept on staring at him in disbelief Harry broke down and told him. Told him how Lucius had sent him a letter detailing the danger that awaited Draco and how he'd been too scared to contact authorities to ask for help. How Draco could be dead and Harry was the only hope he had because he'd saved him before and could do it again. So Harry (being the dumb Gryffindor that he is), rushed to Malfoy Manor as soon as he returned from training. Lucius had profusely thanked him for coming and led him inside. And then Harry could only recall all the walls and ceiling closing in on him and falling into a painful and cold darkness. When he finally awoke he found himself in the middle of the cellar, not behind any bars but simply lying on the ground. He was wandless but seemingly unharmed. All his attempts at prying the door open failed. And then days went by. And he didn't feel hungry or cold or tired. His fingers didn't bleed when he scratched at the cellar door and his toes didn't break from kicking at it for hours on end. Which is when Harry realized that he wasn't fully there. After weeks and months of searching for a way out or his own body, or corpse as far as he knew, he heard the door open. And then Draco was there.

"I was so afraid you'd lock me back in by accident." Harry mumbled into Draco's shoulder. Somehow while the man talked Draco found himself crossing the room and gathering Harry into his arms, holding him tightly and feeling, more than hearing what he was saying. It was odd, holding his old nemesis-turned-weird-ghost-friend, and not feeling anything other than the vibration of his voice through Draco's chest and the tickle of his hair at Draco's neck.

"You are such..."

"An idiot, I know."

"A bloody hero." Draco corrected. "Rushing to help _me_ without thinking for a second."

"Well that's nothing new, is it?" Harry snorted. "I never think when _you're_ concerned."

Somehow Draco got the feeling he wasn't talking about the bathroom episode. And that made him both confused and warm all over at the same time. He squeezed Harry closer, feeling dreadful just thinking about him alone in the cold and the dark...

Draco suddenly jerked away. Harry, having been leaning against him with all of his weight nearly fell off the chair.

"I didn't mean..."

"Harry, wait. What you said. About falling. Was that just a feeling or did you actually fall?"

"I don't know? I wasn't exactly analyzing what was happening you know."

Of-fucking-course. Draco almost ran out of the room, a confused Harry at his heels. When he realized where the blond was headed he slowed down.

"Do you really think I missed something down there?"

Draco whirled around, breathless.

"I forgot all about it. It's been there for ages but no one, and I mean no one not even You-Kn...Voldemort used it."

"Used what?"

"The bottle dungeon. There's an opening in the middle of the cellar that leads even further underground. There's a hatch over it but it's never been opened because it's so bloody deep."

Harry's eyes widened.

"And you think that I'm...that my body is in there? How did I not notice a hatch in the middle of the floor? I crawled around every inch of that darn cellar and I didn't feel or see a thing."

"You were wandless, Harry. It could have a dozen spells preventing anyone from finding it."

Determinedly, he kicked the door open, feeling that such an unceremonious way of getting into the cellar would make it less intimidating. It didn't help. Harry backed away as soon as a gust of stale air escaped the room.

"I don't think I can go back in there."

"What if the only way of finding it is by you being close?"

"Draco, please."

Grey eyes met the dusty green ones. Draco took a deep breath and extended his arm. 

"Hold my hand. I'm not going to let go at any point and I'm not going to leave you there by yourself even for a second. I will light every single torch I find and we are going to find your body so you can pop right back in and finally taste what proper tea is. Alright?"

After a long pause during which neither of them looked away Harry took Draco's hand with his own trembling one. Draco squeezed reassuringly and slowly led the way into the cellar. A flick of his wand sent a flame around the room, lighting the torches suspended at the arches. Harry's hand was holding on so tightly that any more and it would have hurt. They slowly made their way to the middle of the room and stared at the spot where Draco remembered seeing the hatch so long ago. 

"Here goes nothing, I guess." He muttered before stumbling over his own feet and nearly falling face first onto the cellar floor. Thankfully Harry was still holding onto him so Draco was saved from a broken nose. And his near fall did make Harry laugh as a bonus.

"Wow, here goes nothing indeed."

Draco was about to reply when he realized that what he had stumbled over weren't his feet, but a thinly concealed hatch in the floor. And in the flickering light of the torches he could see through the grid that there was a familiar shape at the bottom, a body half covered by shimmering fabric.

"Harry..."

As soon as Harry glanced down into the bottle dungeon, his hand vanished from Draco's and he found himself alone, staring in shock as the figure stirred. And then a hoarse but familiar voice called out, echoing off the dungeon walls.

"You promised you wouldn't let go you wanker."

 

 


	5. Better than anything before.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hospital tea is disgusting and Draco will be having words with the administration. As soon as he gathers the strength to leave Harry unsupervised.

Once Draco had successfully levitated Harry out of the dungeon and taken one look at how frail and sickly he looked all of Harry's arguments against contacting Granger or St. Mungo's fell on deaf ears. When a disheveled Granger and her even more disheveled boyfriend flooed into the manor, followed by nearly a squadron of mediwitches and mediwizards they found Harry cocooned into several blankets and surrounded by pillows, bowls of soup and at least a dozen different herbal teas that Draco had fished out of the kitchen cupboards. 

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?" Roared Weasley. Before Draco could defend himself Harry interrupted the chorus of voices that were coming from all sides of the room. Even in his weakened state his voice carried and drowned out all others.

"He managed to find me, rescue me and force feed me enough soup to fill a small pond. If there's anything you want to reproach him it's that he absolutely refused to listen to me when I said I was fine and called half of the wizarding world to his house in order to, I assume, get me to eat even more soup."

"It's ginger and star grass broth." Draco mumbled, feeling all eyes on him. He saw Granger nod in approval and then all attention returned to Harry. It was immediately decided that he needed to be taken to the hospital which Harry refused to do unless he was accompanied by Draco. All the medical staff could do was comply. Once Harry was transported and settled into his fancy hospital room he was poked and prodded by professionals from every department. All while Draco and Harry's two best friends remained in the room against all official orders to leave. Once things quieted down Harry and Draco's statement of events was recorded and sent off to the ministry. Draco made sure to mention the broken wand in his father's pocket, something that turned out to be the answer to another disappearance. A mediwitch seemed to have misplaced hers months prior, which accounted for the fact that instead of flat out killing Harry, Lucius had placed him into a magically induced coma. Because of the Hippocratic oath extending to any tools manipulated by medical staff the wand simply couldn't be used for murder. 

When only three people, other than a softly snoring Harry himself, remained in his hospital room, Weasley turned to Draco and grudgingly apologised.

"No matter what your old man did, Harry would have been missing for who knows how long if not for you. So thank you, I guess."

"I'm glad I could do something to make up for it, Weasley."

This exchange seemed to be too much for Granger as she suddenly burst into tears and flung herself at Draco. And instead of another punch, which he probably deserved, he found himself awkwardly patting the witch's back as she hugged him, her mass of hair completely obscuring his vision.

"He always did do the stupidest things because of you. I'm just so glad you called us in." She looked up, stern look on her face even through her tears. "Even though you could have told us sooner. We wouldn't have thought you were involved."

"'Mione, let's be real here. Just because Harry was convinced Malfoy couldn't hurt a fly didn't mean we agreed. And we were partially right, no offence Malfoy."

"None taken. I should have realized something was amiss earlier. And connected Harry's disappearance with my father's doings."

At this moment Harry sleepily mumbled something incoherent and reached out to grab Draco's hand. All three of them stared where the two men's fingers were interlocked together and Draco heard Weasley sigh.

"Well, this was inevitable too I guess." The ginger muttered.

Before Draco could ask what he meant, a mediwitch peeked into the room to let them know visiting hours were over. However, even though the rest of Harry was sleepily limp and soft, the hand he was holding onto Draco's with didn't seem like it was letting go anytime soon. With a sigh and a dirty look at Draco, the witch brought in a chair for him to sit in and a thin wool blanket.

"If he wakes up and there aren't any staff around please send a message to the mediwitch at the front desk." She instructed before shutting the door behind her.

Draco sank into the chair near Harry's bed and finally took the time to look over the man's face. Ever since he got him out of the bottle dungeon he'd been running around trying to get him comfortable and warm and then he was contacting Harry's friends (which took a while to do, no direct link between Malfoys and Weasleys for years). So he didn't notice how Harry's skin was an ashy brown instead of the healthy glow it had when he'd last seen him alive and well. But even in this state he looked so much better than the ghostly being he had been over the time it took them to find his body. Draco reached out with his free hand and brushed some stray tufts of hair out of Harry's face. He watched with fondness as the man scrunched up his face at the lock tickling his brow and nuzzled further into his pillow.

Yeah, Draco was in trouble.

 


	6. Holding on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denial is not a river in Egypt. And there's none here.

_The skin under his fingers was warm and soft with the lightest stubble over a lovely jawline. Draco ached to press his lips to this delicious curve and follow where it led to an equally delicious mouth. His other hand slipped down a muscular and defined back to rest on a waist that seemed to fit perfectly under his palm, and Draco tried to move closer to the warm body before him..._

Draco startled awake when instead of warmth his chest connected with cold metal. In his sleep he had moved closer to Harry's bed and had bumped into the bedframe. Hoping that the jostling didn't also wake Harry he slowly moved back. When he looked up his eyes met sparkling green ones.

"Good morning. I hope I didn't cut off circulation in your hand, there."

Harry nodded towards their still joined hands, a small smile on his lips. Before Draco could remove his hand Harry tugged it towards him, which resulted in Draco flopping over Harry in his hospital bed.

"Nope, I can finally experience warmth and I am not letting you leave me to freeze. Gods, haven't they heard of heating in here?"

Draco did his best to regain his dignity by perching on the edge of the bed, glancing at the door over his shoulder. It wouldn't do, after Weasley's comments, to be found in the bed of Harry Potter. 

"If you need to go, I understand. I'm just exercising my medical right to be a spoiled brat right now," Harry continued, still smiling, "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

"What are you on about?"

"Oh sir, I need help cutting up these daisy roots because of my arm," Harry supplied in a high pitched voice. Draco stared at him.

"Are you high?"

"No, that was you. Third year. Hippogriff. Remember?"

"Yeah I do, but why do you?"

Harry's face colored with a healthy blush. The silence that settled over them wasn't quite awkward, but it wasn't something that Draco was prepared to endure.

"I know I've asked this question at least ten times now, but why did you meet with my dad?"

"Because he..."

"No, I know," interrupted Draco, "I mean why you decided that was reason enough to do it. Even if I was in danger, so what? You're not my guardian. And you've already saved me plenty of times. It's not like you're responsible for my wellbeing."

"I didn't like the idea of you being in danger."

"How very Gryffindor of you."

"No, actually. It was more Slytherin than anything. I was very selfishly hoping that if I was there enough times we'd get to...I don't know, talk? Mend whatever we could? Be friends?" 

"You wanted to be friends. With me. After everything." Draco stared at Harry, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah. And mission achieved I guess. Nearly dying repeatedly seems to have its perks."

"But why?"

"Because you were someone I wanted to have in my life," Harry shrugged, "the you that I saw in the tower the night Dumbledore died, the you I saw in the manor when you refused to tell anyone who I was, the you who grew up to do questionable things out of familial love and self preservation, not evil. I wanted to get to know Narcissa's son. "

Draco realised that he was crying only when Harry sat up and wiped the tears from his cheeks with the corner of his hospital blanket.

"Do you...do you think my father was evil?"

Harry kept on gently wiping the tears from Draco's face as he shook his head.

"No, Voldemort tortured him to insanity. He cared for you. I saw it. But stronger people have gone mad from what Tom Riddle did."

"How are you so forgiving, you idiot."

"Well, two of my childhood bullies have turned out to be two of my favourite people. I got to live three, no wait, four times. I think giving second chances is the least I can do."

"Wait, who is this other childhood person?"

"My cousin, no need to be jealous," Harry laughed. Draco felt his face grow warm and he attempted to hid his reddening cheeks by wiping furiously at his damp eyes. Harry caught his wrists and bent his head so their eyes met again.

"I've been waiting until I got my body back to do this, if you'd let me."

 


	7. Worth the wait.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things finally happen that don't involve comatose Harry.

Even if he hadn't just been crying, Draco still wouldn't have been able to speak. All he could do was mouth _what_ at Harry all while being extremely aware of how warm and gentle the hands that were holding his wrists were.

"I'd like to kiss you, Draco."

Oh, yeah, that clarified things. So he shakily nodded and then he was dreaming again.

Except he wasn't because this was better.

Harry was kissing him incredibly softly and slowly and Draco was melting into a puddle. The hands holding on to him finally let go, only to return to his nape in order to pull him closer for a deeper kiss and the only reason Draco backed away was because of the bloody bedframe digging into his leg. The two separated, slightly more breathless than before, but judging by the happy warm glow in Harry's eyes, this was just the beginning.

"I would also like to kiss you outside of the hospital."

"I'm sure the nurses will let you go for a stroll."

Harry swatted at Draco shoulder, grinning.

"You know what a mean, you git."

"I could be persuaded to go for tea."

Draco couldn't keep his expression serious, not when Harry was beaming at him, and only him and when his eyes kept darting back to his lips like he couldn't wait to kiss again.

"And I know a tea tray that could be persuaded to go on a picnic ."

 


End file.
